Scenes from a Firefly
by just slummin
Summary: Co-written by the marvelously talented Midnight Obsidian. This is a series of short one-shots in the lives of the crews of Serenity and the Hit or Miss. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Scenes from a Firefly

**Scenes from a Firefly**

Authors: justslummin & Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: This is the first in a short series of one-shots in the lives of the crews of Serenity and the Hit or Miss.

**Part One—Bedtime Stories**

Jayne scrubbed his large hands over his face, none too pleased with the whole idea of entertaining the children while the others went on an overnight job. Shouldn't be too bad, he figured, considering eight outta ten of the hours the children should be sleeping anyway.

There had been a major negotiation going on for quite some time now, and Jayne sat down heavily on Adam's bed. Was fair amazing to him how young'uns could fight over the least little things like where to have their bedtime story told. Far as he was concerned, they coulda' skipped the whole tradition, but apparently that hadn't set too well with the little ones.

Leaning back against Adam's headboard, Jayne braced himself for the onslaught of Adam and Daniel, who seemed to think he was a jungle gym of some sort or another. Jayne made sure to cover areas he most particularly wanted protected, as elbows and knees unerringly tended to find his most tender regions.

With the boys hanging on him in various stages of glee, Jayne smiled weakly up at Anya. The young girl was sitting on the edge of Adam's bed, cross-legged and with the gurgling Hannah in her lap.

"You want I should hold the baby?" Jayne asked.

Anya smiled, knowing quite well that Hannah held a particularly tender spot in the mercenary's heart. "Okay," she said, depositing Hannah into Jayne's lap, where the baby began to squirm and wiggle in earnest. Eyeing the situation, Anya said, "Might be a good idea to tell us a story now, before things go pear-shaped."

"Stowy," Daniel said, bouncing up and down slightly, thereby jiggling everyone on the bed.

"All right, all right," Jayne said, holding up one large hand to calm them down. "Deal is, I tell the story, then you go to bed. Dong ma?"

Adam rolled his eyes, looking at that moment very much like his moon-brained mother to Jayne's way of thinking. "'Course," he agreed.

Jayne, through years of following his instinct, knew that the children would more than likely not capitulate so easily when the story was done. Nothing for it but to get the story told and find out, he thought.

Drawing a deep breath and looking around at his wide-eyed audience, he began. "Once upon a time there was a princess who lived up in a …." He paused for a moment, trying to remember the word. "A tower," he finished triumphantly.

"Aw," Adam said, wrinkling up his brow. "Don't wanna hear a story about an old princess. Tell us a good story."

Jayne sighed. "What kinda' story?" he asked.

Adam continued to frown for a moment, considering his options. "How's about a story 'bout Reavers?" he asked hopefully.

"No," Jayne said, swallowing convulsively and hiding an embarrassing shudder. "Ain't gonna talk 'bout that."

"Pirates," Adam suggested.

Anya sighed. "I don't want to hear another pirate story."

"Ghosts," Adam said, pleased to have thought of it.

"And monstews," Daniel said, wide-eyed.

"Don't know as that's a good idea," Jayne said hesitantly, remembering a night spent with a much smaller Anya wrapped around him after a particularly vivid account about vampires.

"Come on, Mr. Jayne," Adam wheedled in that way that only small children could. "Ghosts and monsters'd be shiny."

Jayne rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. "Well, there might be one as I could tell," he relented. "If'n I can remember it proper-like."

The children leaned forward, each eager to hear the tale, and Jayne began. "Once upon a time there was an old farmhouse….."

XXXXXXXXXX

Mal lowered the ramp and walked up into the cargo bay, the others following behind. He stopped, drawing his gun from its holster in the darkened bay. "You hear that?" he whispered to River, who stood a scant foot behind him.

River stood motionless, listening with her entire being. Then slowly reaching to lower Mal's gun hand, she said, "Don't shoot our son."

Mal squinted into the dim recesses of the cargo bay and saw Adam huddled behind some crates. His hackles rising, Mal rushed to his son's hiding place. "Adam, what's the matter? What happened?"

Adam looked up at his father with wide, terrified eyes. "Had to hide, Daddy," he whispered.

"From what?" Mal asked, fear running down his own spine now.

"Old Man McGregor," Adam replied.

"Who?" Mal asked.

Adam took a long, shuddering breath. "Old Man McGregor, who lived in the farmhouse on Three Hills," he whispered.

Mal pulled his son out of the small space. "Somebody turn on the gorram lights," he said.

Adam clung to his father's shirt. "Shhh, Daddy," he said urgently. "He hunts at night."

Getting an inkling about what was going on, Mal asked gently, "Where are the others?"

"Me and Anya got 'em all hid in the places you showed us," he said, a little proudly.

"Uh huh," Mal said. "And Mr. Jayne. Where is he?"

Adam looked down at the floor. "Gone, I think," he said sadly. "Ain't nothin' left in there but Old Mr. McGregor."

Looking at River over Adam's head, Mal said, "Best your mother and I go see to this McGregor fella'. Wherebouts is he?"

"In my room, less'n he got away," Adam said.

Mal nodded soberly. "Good job, son," he said. "You stay here with Miss Zoe and Mr. Jim and tell 'em exactly where the little ones are. We'll go see to everything else."

"Okay, Daddy," Adam said. "But….be careful."

"We will," Mal said, smiling reassuringly as he and River headed toward the children's rooms.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Gorram it, turn off that bright light," Jayne thundered as Mal and River looked at him from the doorway of Adam's room.

Fighting back a guffaw, Mal obediently turned the light back to a dimmer setting. "Just wanted to be sure I could see Old Man McGregor," he said, humor tickling the edges of his speech.

"Gorram young'uns," Jayne grumbled, shifting uneasily in the bed. "You oughta' look to trainin' 'em better."

"Looks to me like I'm doing a fine job," Mal said, noting the expertise with which the knots holding Jayne's arms to the bedpost were tied. "Couldn'ta' done a better job myownself."

"You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna untie me?" Jayne asked, his scowl reaching epic proportions.

Mal exchanged a quick glance with River. "Ain't rightly sure," he said, his lips sliding into a full-blown grin. "Seems Adam is a mite concerned that you've been possessed of the ghost of a farmer from Three Hills."

"Knew I shoulda' tole 'em that story," Jayne muttered darkly, tugging unsuccessfully at the ropes.

"And just how is it that those small children managed to overpower our resident mercenary?" River asked, merriment twinkling in her eyes.

Jayne had the grace to look sheepish. "Mighta' got a little too comfortable whilst I was tellin' the story," he said.

"So, you're saying that you fell asleep when I left you specific instructions to look after the children," Mal said.

"Coulda' been but a minute or two," Jayne protested. "'Parently they're quick as lightnin'."

"So they are," Mal said, laughing. He withdrew a small knife and laid it almost gently on Jayne's belly.

"See you in the morning," he said, reaching for River's hand and turning off the light.

"Malllll," Jayne's voice faded into the distance as Mal and River headed back up to the bridge.

XXXXXXXXXX


	2. Chapter 2

Scenes from a Firefly

**Scenes from a Firefly**

**Part Two—Chitchat**

Authors: justslummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Second in the series of one-shots. Murdocke makes a confession to Kaylee.

XXXXXXXXXX

"So how's things on your end of the 'verse?" Kaylee asked, her wide green eyes taking in Murdocke's tired expression even through the Cortex.

"Been up all night rewirin' near 'bout the whole propulsion system," Murdocke said.

Kaylee winced in commiseration, knowing all too well what that was like. "Thought maybe you would be gettin' a break once the Hit or Miss made landfall," she said.

"Don't I wish," Murdocke replied. "But I couldn't just let it go anymore. Fuel efficiency was gettin' to the point Marcus was beginning to notice without me even telling him."

Kaylee snorted. "Musta' been bad then, based on what you've told me about his knowledge of engine workin's and such."

Murdocke nodded, glancing around to be sure his stealthy Captain was not anywhere within earshot. "Guess he ain't as bad as some. He does know where most of the parts go….in a pinch."

"Mal too," Kaylee said. "After that whole catalyzer thing a few years back, he made me teach him at least the basics." She looked at the dark circles under Murdocke's eyes. "Reckon I oughta' let you go. Looks like you could use the rest."

Disappointed, Murdocke replied quickly, "No, no, I'm fine. Been looking forward to talking with you once Serenity was within range. I can sleep later."

Kaylee smiled. "Okay," she agreed eagerly. "Gotta say I was looking forward to it too."

Murdocke grinned. "So, how's the little curtain climber?"

"Daniel's fine," Kaylee said. "Growing like anything just now. I can't seem to keep that boy in clothes." Murdocke chuckled and Kaylee realized that she had never asked him if he had any children scattered out across the system. "You have any kids?"

Murdocke looked at her in astonishment for a moment. "No, can't say as I have," he replied. "Life we live on this ship ain't any kinda' place for raising a kid."

Kaylee snorted. "That's what Cap'n used to say 'fore Adam came along. Not a bit of truth in it."

"Well, unless you've forgotten, the Hit or Miss is entirely populated with men," Murdocke said, grinning. "Not exactly much chance to see about having a family."

"You got a family somewhere?" Kaylee asked. "I mean, like a mama and a daddy, brothers and sisters and all?"

"Got a sister lives in Ariel," Murdocke said. "Married well, you could say. Always on and on about her doctor husband."

Kaylee frowned. "That all the family you got?"

Murdocke nodded. "My parents died a short time after the war. How about you?"

"Oh, I got all manner of brothers, and Mama and Daddy's still alive," Kaylee said, smiling. "Daddy's still puttering about in that old repair shop where I grew up. Taught me more about engines in that shop than most folk ever figure out."

Murdocke looked at her in surprise. "You learned mechanicin' from your father?" he asked. "You didn't have any formal training."

"Weren't none to be had on Harvest," Kaylee said. "And besides, Daddy knew all about engines without no book learning."

Realizing that Kaylee's superior knowledge of engines was not the result of years of formal study, Murdocke understood more clearly the depth of the natural gift Kaylee had.

It fairly took his breath away.

"How 'bout you?" Kaylee asked. "Your Daddy give you the first set of tools you tinkered with?"

"Not exactly," Murdocke replied, thinking of his father's smooth hands, totally unaccustomed to physical work of any kind. "My father was a merchant. Didn't know a thing about engines, as far as I can tell."

"Then who taught you?" Kaylee asked, truly interested in the answer.

Murdocke shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Don't know that I want to say," he replied.

"Why not?" Kaylee asked, genuinely puzzled. "Whoever it was did one good job of it."

She looked at him expectantly.

Murdocke drew a deep breath. "You want the truth?" he asked.

"'Course," Kaylee replied. "That's why I asked."

Thinking that perhaps the decision was due in equal measure to Kaylee's winning charm and his lack of sleep, Murdocke chose to answer the question. "I got most of my training in the Alliance Engineering Corps," he said, half-expecting Kaylee to recoil in horror at the thought.

Kaylee's eyes grew round as saucers. "You mean to say…." She swallowed convulsively. "You were a purplebelly?"

Murdocke sighed. "Afraid so," he said, hoping beyond all else that Kaylee's opinion of him would not change. "For awhile, at least. I wasn't the biggest man in the recruiting station, so they kinda' shuffled me toward something that might not involve a lot of hand to hand combat. Turns out I had an aptitude for fixing things, and once they found that out, they were more than happy to train me for their purposes."

Kaylee could hardly reconcile the man she knew with the thought of him being an Alliance soldier of any sort. "So, during the war, you…" she said, somehow unable to articulate the words at the moment.

"During the war, I was a fresh recruit. Worked with the engineers right on through the end of it." Figuring the damage was done, he continued his story. "Fact of the matter is that I was an Alliance engineer right up 'til your crew broadcast the Miranda Wave."

Kaylee looked vaguely startled. He continued, "That broadcast changed my life, Kaylee. What you all did….well, it opened up a whole set of things I'd tried real hard not to think about. Like what I had seen when we were called out to one planet or another. The devastation that seemed to be a hallmark of the Alliance troops. The tinkering they were doing with all manner of stuff as don't need to be tinkered with. It got me to thinking, and I realized I didn't want to be a part of it anymore, education or not."

"Does anyone else know?" Kaylee asked, feeling suddenly sorry for her earlier consternation.

"Marcus does," Murdocke said. "Couldn't very well avoid the question about where I got my experience, and I had no notion to lie."

"And he just took you on, knowing that?" Kaylee asked.

Murdocke nodded. "S'pose lots of folks have got a story to tell," he said. "And anyway the circumstances of our first meeting made it pretty clear that I had no use for the mighty Alliance anymore."

Kaylee looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Murdocke thought about it for a long moment. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Long's it's not a real juicy one," Kaylee said, smiling.

"I met Marcus in a bar on Ariel. I'd had a little too much to drink, celebrating my recent success. Got a little too verbal about it, and he helped me out. Took my someplace quiet so's I didn't get arrested for what I was talking about."

"And what was it you were talking about?" Kaylee asked, leaning in closer to the screen.

Murdocke swallowed. "I was apparently tellin' the tale of how I'd managed to disable the entire electrical system of the Fed sub-station on Ariel. Caused a blackout down two city blocks that lasted a gorram week." He couldn't quite contain the pride in his voice. "Anyways, once Marcus heard about that little adventure, I guess he figured my loyalties were in the right place. Besides, he needed an engineer, and it was plain to see that I wasn't an Alliance man anymore. Now that I know what they've done, ain't any way in nine hells I'm feeling proud of my little contributions to their plans."

Kaylee nodded in sympathy. "You couldn'ta' known what they were doing everywhere in the 'verse," she pointed out reasonably. "And you got out soon's you knew."

"That I did," Murdocke replied fervently. "Rather be an honest crook than a crooked soldier."

Kaylee smiled. "That was kinda' poetical," she said, glad to have the lighter mood restored.

Murdocke grinned. "Wanna know how I got such a poetical side?" he asked, his eyes lighting with mischief.

Kaylee gave him a mock frown. "Don't think I do," she replied. "Might be more of a revelation than I can take all at one time."

They both laughed, and Murdocke felt lighter than he had in some time.

XXXXXXXXXX


	3. Chapter 3

Scenes from a Firefly

**Scenes from a Firefly**

**Part Three—Envy**

Authors: justslummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Third in the short series of one-shots. Badger thinks about his newest rival.

XXXXXXXXXX

Not gorram fittin' for a man to be treated this way, after all the jobs I've brought in for 'im. Just not gorram fittin', Badger fumed, looking at one of his oldest and most reliable clients.

The client, completely unconcerned with Badger's consternation, continued. "And so, I will no longer be requiring your services," he said, inclining his head in a clear dismissal.

Badger, swallowing with great difficulty the bile that rose in his throat, said, "No need to be all 'asty there, mate. Could be you'll be needing me again some time." He hated the slightly wheedling tone he heard in his own voice.

"I don't think so," the man said with a definite air of finality.

Badger knew instantly what had happened. The gorram client had done what many of clients seemed to be doing of late. He had obviously hired that interloping hundan, Easy Mercury, to handle his jobs.

Badger gritted his teeth as he walked out into Persephone's midday sun. How such a young upstart had managed to cut into the business of a respectable member of the community such as himself was beyond the crime lord's comprehension. Badger walked rapidly down the streets, his feet taking him unconsciously toward Easy's office. He stood for a long moment on the street corner, watching the goings-on with bitter displeasure until he realized that it would look to the casual observer as if he were skulking about.

Straightening his bowler hat and tugging at his lapels with a huff of irritation, he stepped forward and walked onto the street fronting Easy's office. In moments, Easy himself appeared at the doorway.

Badger looked at him through narrowed eyes, barely containing his disapproval of everything the man represented. Easy stepped forward, extending his hand. "Well, what a surprise," he said heartily. "Wasn't expecting to see you this fine day, Badger."

Badger looked at Easy's outstretched hand and childishly stuck his own hands in his pockets. "Just takin' a walkabout on the seedy side of town. Seeing 'ow the less fortunate live, you could say."

Easy raised one eyebrow, looking pointedly at their surroundings. "Less fortunate, huh?" he said softly. "Looks as if I need to go over to your little hole in the wall place and see if things have changed since last I saw it."

Badger bristled. "Ain't a 'ole in the wall, Mercury," he said, putting as much venom into the name as he could manage. "Just 'cause I don't flaunt my wealth with showy offices like yours don't mean it ain't up to snuff. Some o' us like to show a little discretion in our business dealings."

He looked at Easy's stylish clothes, newer than his own, and sneered. "Ain't all about flash, you know. Man's gotta 'ave some substance."

"I couldn't agree more," Easy said evenly, refusing to be baited by the little man. "Like, for instance, a man needs a good relationship with his clients. You know, to build loyalty and the like. Be a shame to lose clients to a young man just coming along, wouldn't you say?" He grinned widely.

Badger's pulse beat wildly at his temple. Little cockroach was insulting him, he was fairly certain. Like Mercury thought he was better than him in some way, gorram idiot.

"Quality clients stay with a man as does the job," he ground out. "Riffraff changes up at the drop of a hat. I got no use for riffraff."

Easy smiled an infuriating smile. "And yet I find that discerning clients shop around for the man that can do the best job, regardless of the shoddy work they had to accept from lesser men in the past."

Badger was quite sure that steam might come out of his ears in a minute. "You sayin' I'm a lesser man?"

Easy feigned surprise. "What would make you think I was referring to you, Badger? You losing clients or something?"

Picturing the satisfying feel of Easy's nose breaking under his fist, Badger managed to hold back. "I don't 'ave the time to stand 'ere in the middle of this sorry street and discuss business with the likes of you, Mercury." And taking all the dignity that he could muster with him, he turned on his heels and headed back to his turf.

XXXXXXXXXX

Badger strode angrily into his office, still seething from his aborted confrontation with Easy. It wasn't like he was scared or anything, he told himself. It was just that these things were best handled in a delicate way, a civilized way. He nodded to himself, thinking that sounded almost poetical.

Could be that the younger man was just an exceptionally bright flash in the pan, he thought. Rivals over the years had tended to come and go rather quickly, most without his help to nudge them out. But there was something unsettling about Easy's demeanor. Something that looked a helluva lot like a genuine threat to Badger's bottom line.

Badger pulled out the ledger he kept locked in the secret compartment of his desk drawer and thumbed through its pages glumly. No doubt about it, since Easy had infiltrated his client list somehow, Badger had been steadily seeing fewer and fewer profits. Of course, the whole Mrs. Niska debacle had cost him quite a lot, when he considered the cut he'd had to give to the insufferable Malcolm Reynolds on that botched job. But he could have recovered from that temporary hiccup in his cash flow had Easy not breezed into town with his fine clothes and his nervous energy.

While Badger did not see the attraction of that restless nature of Easy's, it seemed obvious that clients mistook it for an eagerness to please them, which had only worked to Badger's disadvantage. Had to be some way to stem the tide, he thought. Some way to bring the upstart to his knees with a minimum of effort and expenditure.

Looking balefully at his ledger balance, he realized that the latter would be a necessity as the number was infinitely smaller than it had been in prior years. Cursing the fates that allowed such, he slammed the ledger shut and stomped over to his liquor cabinet, pulling out one of his favorite bottles and pouring himself a stiff drink.

As the fiery liquid poured down his throat, he closed his eyes, pondering elaborate schemes to take Easy out. Problem was, none of them seemed likely of resounding success without an element of danger that Badger was not willing to accept just yet. So, he poured another drink and leaned his head back against the desk chair.

Outside, one of his men peered into the office, observing his boss with a hint of insubordination.

"What's he doing now?" another man whispered.

"Drinking himself into a stupor again," the first man replied. "Like he always does after running into Mercury."

The second of Badger's guards frowned. "You thinkin' about taking Mercury's offer?" he asked quietly.

"Be a fool not to," the first man said, smiling without any genuine humor. "Offerin' near twice as much as Badger, and looks to be on the rise in this town."

The second guard nodded. "Me too," he said. "In fact, I don't see any reason not to leave right now. Easy don't have near the turnover as Badger, and we might not get a spot if we don't hurry."

"My thoughts exactly," the first man said, glancing back once more at the man who'd employed him for four years. Deciding to let sleeping dogs lie, he grinned at his companion. "No time like the present."

And the two men walked through the stillness of the afternoon, leaving Badger alone in his empty office to cast their lot with the new boss in town.

XXXXXXXXXX


	4. Chapter 4

Scenes from a Firefly

**Scenes from a Firefly**

**Part Four—Trauma Medicine**

Authors: justslummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: Fourth in a series of one-shots. Pierre and Jim have a small palaver.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jim Bowden's head hurt. Not the sharp pain that had rolled around in his skull like a demented marble long after his injury at the hands of the mad men on Whittier, but just a dull ache that seemed to emanate from somewhere behind his left eye. Figuring that the bottle of whiskey on the table would help with that little problem, he poured another shot into his glass. Tipping the bottle slightly toward Pierre, he raised an eyebrow.

"I could do with another," Pierre said, his voice pleasantly blurred around the edges, not so much drunk as truly relaxed.

The two men were sitting at Serenity's galley table, unburdened by any pressing need beyond finishing the bottle at their discretion. The others, with the exception of the children who were presently sleeping like all good children do, were ferrying equipment from Serenity's cargo bay to the Hit or Miss. The ships were two legs in a much longer convoy that would carry the equipment from one end of the 'verse clear to the other end for what Marcus and Mal had both thought a handsome sum of cashy money.

Jim and Pierre had been spared the heavy lifting, Jim for the obvious reason of his continuing recovery and Pierre because he had managed to pull a muscle in his back on the last leg of the journey. Once the two ships had rendezvoused at the designated drop point, Simon had examined Pierre and declared him unfit for duty. Pierre almost pitied the doctor when he'd been impressed into service in Pierre's own place.

"So, what spares your muscles from the work?" Pierre asked companionably.

Jim grimaced. "Little complication back on Whittier. Damn near killed me, truth to tell."

Pierre frowned under his mask. "Don't believe I've ever been on Whittier. I take it I wouldn't like it very much."

"Should be all right now," Jim said wryly. "As I understand it, the problem was solved after my unfortunate skull fracture."

"Skull fracture?" Pierre asked. "That sounds none too pleasant."

Jim shrugged. "Nothing brain surgery and months of physical therapy couldn't cure," he said dryly.

Pierre took a long pull from his glass. "Know all about the joys of physical therapy," he said, touching his mask unconsciously and thinking that the whiskey must have loosened his tongue.

Jim looked at him curiously. "Been kind of wondering about the mask," he said slowly. "Didn't seem right to ask."

"I appreciate the discretion," Pierre said. "Your mercenary wasn't as well-mannered."

There was a slight smile in his voice.

"Yeah, well, Jayne has his own charm," Jim said, smiling as well. "Sort of an acquired taste."

"Like Murdocke," Pierre said, grinning.

"Somewhat," Jim agreed. After a moment, he added, "So, you're not gonna tell me about the mask, are you?"

"Nope," Pierre said amiably.

They sat in silence for a long while. "So," Pierre said as if there had been no lull in the conversation. "You and Zoe. Congratulations on that."

Jim inclined his head. "Thanks," he said simply. "You ever been married?"

"No," Pierre said wryly. "Not incredibly likely, traveling as we do."

"Oh, I don't know," Jim said companionably. "Found Zoe traveling about."

"Easy enough to find a woman when she's on the boat with you," Pierre replied blandly.

"Not so easy to convince her to marry me," Jim said. "Long whittling down process." He paused for a moment. "Well worth the wait, however."

Pierre raised his glass. "Here, here," he said.

Jim sipped slowly. "S'pose there'll ever come a time when Captain Hazzard will agree to a woman on board the Hit or Miss?"

"Not so much a matter of disagreeing," Pierre said pleasantly. "More a matter of not needing anymore crew than we've got. He runs an organized ship. Sparse, you could say." He sipped a bit from his glass. "Of course, I sometimes imagine what it would be to travel on a ship like Serenity, with all those women and children about."

"Keeps us out of trouble," Jim said, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"Why do I doubt that?" Pierre asked.

"Maybe because it's a blatant lie," Jim said, laughing.

Pierre laughed as well. "I'll admit trouble seems to follow crews such as ours around."

"Wanna go dirtside? Settle down?" Jim asked, looking at Pierre curiously.

"That a proposal?"

"Sorry. Already spoken for," Jim replied.

"Still," Pierre said, thinking a little bit tipsily that he should answer the question. "Don't have any wish to be dirtside, least as long as the Alliance has such an iron grip on all the worlds spinning."

"Amen to that," Jim said, thinking that Pierre might not be so amenable to drinking with him if he knew what Jim had once been. Pushing the thought determinedly out of his mind, he looked at Pierre quizzically. "Think another war is coming?" he asked.

Pierre looked into his glass as if the answers might be contained somewhere in its depths. "We hear a lot of chatter about it, at least out on the Rim worlds," he answered softly.

"It happens, what do you suppose Marcus will do?" Jim asked.

"Can't rightly say," Pierre said, sighing. "Hope it doesn't come to that."

"And you?" Jim asked. "What would you do?"

Pierre shook his head. "Don't know that either."

"S'pose none of us do, comes right down to it," Jim replied, swirling the amber liquid in the bottom of the bottle reflectively. Sighing, he said, "Sorta' kills that nice buzz I had going."

Pierre nodded in agreement. "Good thing there's another bottle over there," he said, lifting his head to indicate a shelf close to the bulkhead.

Jim grinned. "Mal thought he had that hidden. How'd you see it?"

"Got a high shelf on the Hit or Miss too," Pierre said. "Must be in the Captain handbook to store liquor on the top shelf."

Eyeing the tempting bottle thirstily, Jim licked his lips. "I ain't quite steady enough on my feet to get to it." When Pierre looked at him, he added, "You know, brain injury and all."

Pierre eyed the distance warily. "'Spect I could reach it without stretching too far." He looked at Jim. "You know, back injury and all."

Jim nodded. "Sounds to me like a bit of medicine would be in order."

Pierre nodded and retrieved the bottle from the high shelf with just a slight twinge of pain. "Couldn't agree more," he said, setting the bottle down on the table between them.

XXXXXXXXXX


	5. Chapter 5

Scenes from a Firefly

**Scenes from a Firefly**

**Part Five—Paying Respect**

Authors: justslummin and Midnight Obsidian

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playin' in Joss' sandbox.

Rating: PG

Summary: This is the last in a short series of one-shots in the lives of the crews of Serenity and the Hit or Miss.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Can't imagine it's all that easy for you to come here," Marcus said in a low voice as he approached Mal.

Mal looked up and saw the younger Captain through the light on the world that used to be called Mr. Universe's planet. Hoping that Marcus might mistake the faint misting in his eyes for something pertaining to the glint of the sun, Mal consciously lifted the corners of his mouth into a slight smile. "Not the happiest of places, I'll admit," he said.

Coming to stand beside him, Marcus looked at the holograms projected on the three burial markers. "How long did the Shepherd fly with you?"

Mal sighed. "Book was with us less than a year," he said. "But even when we dropped him off on Haven, he was still…." He paused for a moment, swallowing thickly past the lump in his throat. "Still part of my crew."

"And your pilot?" Marcus asked, turning to Wash's smiling face. "Looks like he was full of life."

Mal nodded. "Had the thought on more than one occasion that he was a little too full of life to be with us." He turned to meet Marcus' eyes. "After the war, me and Zoe…well, we were half dead, I reckon. Walkin' and talkin', but not really feelin' much of nothing for a long while. Then, Wash comes along, with his eye-burnin' shirts and his jokes and his…."

Marcus watched Mal sympathetically, hardly able to imagine what pain he would feel if he had lost any of his own crew.

Mal sighed, stopping in mid-thought. "Brought Zoe back to life. Won her right over, for all her sayin' she didn't like him at first."

"Well," Marcus said kindly. "Least now she seems happy with Jim."

Mal looked at Wash's image again. "Guess that's sorta one reason I came out here today. Wash'd be happy to know she's doin' okay. Wouldn'ta' wanted anything less than that for her."

The two men stood in silence for a long while, both paying their own brand of respect to Wash and Book. Finally, Mal spoke. "So, what brings you here?"

Marcus shrugged. "Murdocke was talkin' to Kaylee over the Cortex, and she mentioned you were coming here. We were close by, and I thought you might like some company." He looked down at his feet, shuffling a little uncomfortably in the sand. "Truth to tell, I don't know how I would react if I'd been through anything like what happened to you on Miranda."

Mal stared into the distance, watching the sun's path as it set over the horizon. "You'da' gotten up and done what we all did. Eatin', sleepin', or at least tryin' to, breathin' in and out 'til it becomes a dull ache 'stead of the sharp pain it was at first."

"But still, you're here, on this day, standing in this place, paying respect," Marcus observed.

Mal nodded. "Just 'cause it ain't a fresh wound don't mean it's ever gonna go away. Matter of fact, I wouldn't want it to. Would mean I'd forgotten who they were, what they were."

"Don't reckon that's like to happen," Marcus said. "I didn't even know them, but from the stories I've heard from your crew, I'm aimin' to remember them myself."

A slight wind started to blow and Mal shivered despite his long coat. Seeing it, Marcus asked, "You wanna go back to the ship?"

Mal shook his head. "Think I'd rather just stay here a mite longer."

"All right," Marcus said, taking that as a cue to leave.

"Could do with the company," Mal said, almost too softly for Marcus to hear.

Marcus nodded. "Want I should make us a little fire? Wind's picking up."

Mal nodded, and Marcus walked off a small distance to find suitable kindling for a small fire. When he returned, Mal had not moved from his spot. Thinking it best just to build the fire where Mal currently stood, Marcus busied himself with the task, saying nothing.

Mal watched through hooded eyes as Marcus expertly tended the flames, creating a fire that generated a good amount of heat to be so small. "Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Marcus looked up. "What?" he said. "Doesn't everybody know how to build a fire?" Mal looked at him steadily until he added, "My dad taught me. Took me campin' now and again."

The mention of his parents added to the somber occasion and Mal wished suddenly that he hadn't asked the question. As if sensing his thoughts, Marcus smiled tiredly. "Old wound," he said. "Dull ache, like you said earlier."

Warming his hands over the fire, Mal sat down. "S'pose that's the way of things in the 'verse," he said. "Hard to get to be a grown man without experiencing some sorta loss."

Marcus nodded and they listened to the almost soothing sound of the crackling fire and watched the flames dance in the wind. After a long while, Mal asked, "I ever tell you about the time Zoe took Wash to that little hotel on Verbena?"

Marcus shook his head. "Don't believe so," he answered.

Mal began to chuckle. "You shoulda' seen 'im," he said. "See, Zoe has a wicked sense of humor, and Wash didn't know that the little hotel was…."

Marcus closed his eyes, listening to Mal recount that story and many others about the two men he's taken in as crew and lost so cruelly. Mal talked long into the night, the words flowing from him as they rarely did, bubbling to the surface to breathe free once more. And Marcus could hear the love in Mal's voice, the unspoken admiration for those men rippling beneath each laugh, each moment of contemplation in the retelling of their lives. And when the night was done, and the sun rose pale pink against the sky, Mal stopped and turned to his friend.

"Glad you came," he said simply.

"Me too," Marcus replied.

XXXXXXXXXX

Author's note: So ends the spate of little one-shots. More coming soon with the crew of the Hit or Miss, in Midnight Obsidian's story entitled, "Four of a Kind"! As always, thanks for reading and commenting!


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